Page 17 of Bound to the Griffin (Hillcrest Hollow Shifters #3)

Jackson

She was curled up in the only lazy chair by the fire, legs tucked under her, steam rising from a cup of tea in her hands.

Not just any cup, but bone china with a delicate gold band around the rim.

It had to come from Liz’s private set; I’d know it anywhere.

So our illustrious mayor had slipped a pair into that gift basket.

Figures. Liz always did like to leave her mark—that was the way of the alpha—and she could also never ignore a person in need.

The firelight caught in Gwen’s hair, pulling out threads of copper in the brown.

The tea smelled of pine, smoke, and bergamot.

It was an odd mix, but it suited her. Sharp, warm, grounded.

It fit the situation too; we both needed a bit of grounding for this conversation.

Perhaps, given her calm expression, I needed it more than she did, but still, I didn’t reach for my own cup.

The restless energy wouldn’t let me sit.

My claws wanted to grip and release, grip and release, so I paced the length of the faded rug instead.

Every circuit, my eyes caught on something that hadn’t been that way yesterday.

The floorboards were Kai’s work, to make reparations to Gwen for scaring and biting her.

Furniture was straightened and polished, that had to be Ted’s touch.

The back door hung even and swung quietly on the hinges; Drew never could leave a crooked frame alone.

All of it was done quietly, and before any of them had learned that she was my soulmate. They were good people, and they knew she hadn’t deserved this. I hadn’t asked them to do any of it, and they hadn’t told me or asked for thanks.

She didn’t know the half of it—of this town’s deep-running loyalty—and maybe she wasn’t ready to find out what bound us that way.

But the fact that her ankle was unmarked now…

there was no way around that truth anymore.

She deserved the best explanation I could give, though unease made me want to swallow the words and fly away.

Far away. What if she rejected what I said, laughed?

What if she called me crazy and decided to leave, after all?

I stopped pacing and faced her while the fire popped behind me.

“Hillcrest Hollow,” I said, “is a haven for people who don’t fit anywhere else.

” That was clear, simple, the truth. Yet it didn’t reveal anything, not really.

Her eyes stayed on me over the rim of her cup: steady, waiting.

They told me she didn’t believe this was it, and she was waiting for the rest of my tale.

From the hint of tension in her slight shoulders, I knew she was waiting for the other shoe to drop.

I took a breath, kept my voice even by drawing on years of military-instilled discipline.

“After Halver’s bigotry and suspicion—and a few other incidents—the town decided not to take in outsiders anymore.

Like you. That’s why everyone was… less than welcoming.

” My feathers prickled under my skin at the memory.

“But you’ve proven yourself. You’re not considered an outsider now. ”

Nothing from her, just the faint clink of china as she tipped her cup for another sip.

It filled me with unease that I could not read her mind and know what she was thinking, so I pressed on.

“After Kai scared you in the woods and injured you, I called one of the people here—another misfit—who has the ability to heal injuries. Like most folks in the Hollow, he’s got something out of the ordinary. ”

She didn’t flinch; she didn’t look away.

She just watched me over that gold-rimmed cup, like she was measuring every word.

Her brown eyes held no judgment, but they didn’t hold much else either.

Time stretched between us as I stood in place and waited.

Was that enough for her for now? Had I said too much?

Finally, she set the cup in her lap and said, calm as anything, “What’s your ability?

” The question landed like a thrown blade: clean, sharp, impossible to ignore.

I realized she wasn’t nearly as unready as I’d been telling myself.

She came armed, in fact, and the longer I remained silent, the more determined her expression became.

“Tell me, Jackson. I will keep your secret, but I need to know.”

She rose, coming to stand in front of me and in front of the fire, so it bathed one side of her and cast the other into shadow.

In that moment, she seemed to reflect my dual nature, dark and light, beast and man.

Her expression became softer, less a dare, less a bluff, perhaps.

“I need to know before whatever this is between us can go any further. You understand that, right?” Oh…

Hope sparked inside my chest, and suddenly it wasn’t so hard to raise a hand and draw her attention to it as I forced a partial shift—changing just that limb into a paw with claws, a lion’s foot.

I was watching her face so intently as I did it that I was aware of each minute shift in her expression: shock, awe , if I was being optimistic, then her eyebrows climbed in delicate arches even further when she reached out and petted the soft fur.

So bold, so fearless, so ready to do the exact opposite of whatever someone expected. I loved that about her.

“I’m a shapeshifter,” I said, preempting the question that was certainly about to spill from her mouth.

And then, before she could ask the next most obvious question: “Not into anything I want, I can change into a griffin. Part lion, part eagle.” I didn’t think that would make her smile—to find out that the man who’d been pursuing her was a monster—but it did.

The smile turned into a giggle, soft, a bit confused, then delightfully self-mocking.

“Oh, damn it, I actually believe you. I’m not going crazy, am I, Jackson?

” I shook out my paw until it was just a hand once more, then pulled her into my arms, grateful when she came willingly, still dusty from her work in the upstairs, front-facing bedroom and her fall through the plasterboard.

She fit just right beneath my chin, snug against my chest, where she was safe. She fit against me like she’d been made for the space. My arms locked around her without thought, the way wings tuck in close to shield something precious.

I’d half-expected fear in her eyes after I told her, or disbelief, or the polite but firm distance that meant she’d be leaving town at the first chance she got.

But instead… she stayed, and she was the one asking me for reassurance.

She let me hold her, and my chest felt too tight with hope that this would work.

Her voice was muffled against my shirt when she said, “So… when are you going to show me?” The heat of her breath seeped through my shirt and prickled along sensitive skin.

I wanted her all the time, but that touch sent sensation arrowing straight to my cock.

It surged in my pants as if it thought she was talking about it, not my griffin.

I eased back enough to see her face, my mouth dry as I struggled with battling urges inside me: the need to claim her, make love to her, show her I was a good mate, and the powerful urge to make her part of my world, my griffin.

“Show you?” She wasn’t ready, I told myself.

It was one thing to watch a parlor trick and not be scared, another to face a beast. Especially when darkness had begun to fall.

“You. In griffin form.” She tilted her chin toward the windows, where snow swirled lazily past the glass.

“Out in the woods. I want to see for myself.” There was a dare in her eyes, as if she knew exactly what I was thinking.

So stubborn, her chin jutted as she raised her head from my chest and looked me straight in the eye.

The instinctive “no” came fast, too fast. My kind doesn’t reveal ourselves lightly; none of us supernaturals did.

People had been burned at the stake for making a mistake before.

“That might be too much for one day,” I said.

“You’ve had enough dropped on you already.

” I rushed out the words, trying to smooth over the situation.

“The burglar, the scare with Kai, the discovery of all that stolen money...”

Her brow furrowed, and the disappointment in her eyes hit hard, the urge to please her powerful.

“I’ll come back tomorrow,” I promised. “Fix your roof. Show you the griffin. If you still believe in me, then.” The urge to protect her was just as strong, and it was still winning, but I didn’t know for how long.

“I believe you now,” she said softly. That just about undid me, that vulnerable tone, that trust. I didn’t give myself time to think.

I bent and caught her mouth with mine. The first kisses had been whispers, preludes; this one was anything but.

Heat poured through me, every nerve waking at once.

She tasted faintly of tea and something sweet that was all her.

Her fingers curled into my shirt, and I slid my hands along her back, feeling the flex of her spine, the soft curve of her hips.

She pressed closer, and the hunger sharpened, not just griffin instinct to claim, but something deeper: an urge as primordial as the beast that was part of me, as ancient as this town’s history and what had stood here before it.

I shifted my grip, lifted her effortlessly, and carried her down onto the rug in front of the fire.

The heat from the hearth licked at us as we tangled together, our mouths breaking only to catch breath before finding each other again.

My palms traced the curve of her waist, her ribs, and the arch of her back.

She explored in turn, her touch dragging over my shoulders and up into my hair.

Her moans were soft at first, little flickers of encouragement, but they grew louder as both of us grew bolder.

My cock pressed fiercely against the back of my zipper, and I pressed it against her thighs.

She spread them for me, letting me between them, and we gasped together as needy flesh met needy flesh.

Even with the barrier of our clothing between us, it felt divine.

I needed to reel this back in, take control, pull back.

I couldn’t. There was no way to stop this tide now that it had been unleashed.

Her taste made my mind go blank, filled only with thoughts of pleasing her—drinking in her gasps and moans, stroking and licking and pleasuring every lush, soft curve.

She didn’t protest when I yanked up her shirt and exposed her belly; she moaned with eager encouragement when I kissed her there and slid lower.

“Stop me,” I growled at her, a last attempt at finding sanity, discipline, control.

Anything to make this right for her, rather than the wild, beastly claim I wanted to stake on her.

Damn her and her stubborn streak. She shook her head, brown eyes growing sharp with a dare that shot like a bolt of lightning down my spine.

The house rattled with my growl, bone china clattering on its saucer on the nearby table.

My hands worked open the button on her pants, and panting with pleasure, she helped me shimmy them down her silky thighs.

Panties—pink, so very lacy and feminine—and then they were shredded beneath my claws as I pressed my nose into sweet-smelling, dark curls, lapping at the honey that already dripped from her core.

She came, shouting my name, and my griffin preened in pleasure.

I pressed my hips down against the rug at her side, forcing myself to hold on, to control myself.

My tongue delved deeper for the taste of heaven, urging more sounds from her ragged throat, drawing all of her aftershocks into me through my tongue, feeling her clench as she shook.

She’d curled her fingers in my short hair, and I relished the sharp tug on my scalp as she pulled.

When I raised my head—an effort that took long seconds of battling for control—Gwen was smiling: soft, lush, happy.

“Okay, the griffin can wait,” she said. That would have felt like a slap to my pride if not for her next words: “Take me to bed first. That seems like the right order of business, don’t you think? ” Yes, I could not agree more.